Ship: aoyagi hajime / teshima junta Fandom: yowapeda Major tags: none Other tags: supernatural elements, soul mates, mundane magic Word count: 543
a sorta tanabata story.
***
Teshima fills the tea kettle with cold water right from the tap. Teshima puts the kettle on to boil on the little stove. Teshima carefully sets out two of their oldest mugs, the ones that have the star and the moon painted on the side, the star with the neat strong lines, the moon that quavers a little uncertainly around the outside curve. Teshima doesn’t want to wait.
Teshima starts with the cupboard right beside the stove, the one with the old oak shelves worn smooth with use, stacked right up to the edge with glass jars filled to the brim with dried herbs, tightly sealed with fresh yellow beeswax. Rose hip and raspberry leaf for love. Chamomile and valerian for sleep. Lemon balm and eyebright from which to plan your future. Teshima takes them out one by one, carefully cracks the wax seals, and dumps all of their contents out of the open window that overlooks the yard. It’s a beautiful autumn day. The wind is light and lovely and Teshima watches as the dark green of the dried raspberry leaf and the yellow chamomile gets swept artfully into a swirl of autumn leaves before being all blown away.
So too goes the English breakfast blend that’s made of early morning rides through the green hill that loops around their home, sun rising orange and yellow and brilliant over their shoulder. Out the window the delicate jasmine green tea that rises in clouds of sweet steam from the cup, the kind that fills the entirety of your lungs with a softness that aches, that fills the window glass with condensation that Aoyagi used to draw lines through into birds, into hearts, into a little smile that mirrored his own as he tilts his face toward Teshima. Teshima doesn’t want to wait. Teshima has waited long enough.
“Come home, Hajime,” Teshima says quietly in a voice that doesn’t feel like his at all. Some people say they can see the long red string that links their hands together, palm to palm, but it’s always been one that they made together, and not even during the winter when the nights are longest and the air is thinnest can it be broken.
You always were the one to shine brightest, Aoyagi had said to him last summer, as his careful fingers tied Teshima’s hair back with a little silk ribbon. Their hair always grows so long in their year apart. They never have the heart to cut it and they mirror each other's little ponytails now. I know you’ll be able to find me even when it isn’t summer, Junta.
(On the seventh day of the seventh month, the moon is allowed to cross the sky just this once.)
(Teshima might not be good at many things. But one thing Teshima knows for sure is: if you want to fill your cupboards with something other than half-memories and wishes, you need to empty them out first, need to empty yourself out first and trust that the other person will help fill it again with you.)
Teshima hears a knock coming from the door just as the kettle starts whistling itself ready and he smiles as the sound pierces through the air like a welcome home.
FILL: TEAM KAGEYAMA TOBIO/OIKAWA TOORU, G
Fandom: yowapeda
Major tags: none
Other tags: supernatural elements, soul mates, mundane magic
Word count: 543
a sorta tanabata story.
***
Teshima fills the tea kettle with cold water right from the tap. Teshima puts the kettle on to boil on the little stove. Teshima carefully sets out two of their oldest mugs, the ones that have the star and the moon painted on the side, the star with the neat strong lines, the moon that quavers a little uncertainly around the outside curve. Teshima doesn’t want to wait.
Teshima starts with the cupboard right beside the stove, the one with the old oak shelves worn smooth with use, stacked right up to the edge with glass jars filled to the brim with dried herbs, tightly sealed with fresh yellow beeswax. Rose hip and raspberry leaf for love. Chamomile and valerian for sleep. Lemon balm and eyebright from which to plan your future. Teshima takes them out one by one, carefully cracks the wax seals, and dumps all of their contents out of the open window that overlooks the yard. It’s a beautiful autumn day. The wind is light and lovely and Teshima watches as the dark green of the dried raspberry leaf and the yellow chamomile gets swept artfully into a swirl of autumn leaves before being all blown away.
So too goes the English breakfast blend that’s made of early morning rides through the green hill that loops around their home, sun rising orange and yellow and brilliant over their shoulder. Out the window the delicate jasmine green tea that rises in clouds of sweet steam from the cup, the kind that fills the entirety of your lungs with a softness that aches, that fills the window glass with condensation that Aoyagi used to draw lines through into birds, into hearts, into a little smile that mirrored his own as he tilts his face toward Teshima. Teshima doesn’t want to wait. Teshima has waited long enough.
“Come home, Hajime,” Teshima says quietly in a voice that doesn’t feel like his at all. Some people say they can see the long red string that links their hands together, palm to palm, but it’s always been one that they made together, and not even during the winter when the nights are longest and the air is thinnest can it be broken.
You always were the one to shine brightest, Aoyagi had said to him last summer, as his careful fingers tied Teshima’s hair back with a little silk ribbon. Their hair always grows so long in their year apart. They never have the heart to cut it and they mirror each other's little ponytails now. I know you’ll be able to find me even when it isn’t summer, Junta.
(On the seventh day of the seventh month, the moon is allowed to cross the sky just this once.)
(Teshima might not be good at many things. But one thing Teshima knows for sure is: if you want to fill your cupboards with something other than half-memories and wishes, you need to empty them out first, need to empty yourself out first and trust that the other person will help fill it again with you.)
Teshima hears a knock coming from the door just as the kettle starts whistling itself ready and he smiles as the sound pierces through the air like a welcome home.